


nurture, not nature (makes a wizard)

by cpt_winniethepooh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts House Sorting, Hogwarts House Sorting Ceremony, Hufflepuff Common Room, Hufflepuff Crowley, Hufflepuff Pride, M/M, Ollivanders Wand Shop (Harry Potter), gender non-conforming crowley, presumptions, slytherin aziraphale, sorting anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 20:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20234173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cpt_winniethepooh/pseuds/cpt_winniethepooh
Summary: 11-year-old Newt goes to Hogwarts, and immediately he thinks he knows what House Crowley and Aziraphale are the Heads of.But what if he's wrong?(Basically a meta-ish fic about Good Omens characters with the help of some House-analysis.)





	nurture, not nature (makes a wizard)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvaldReyklaniMark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvaldReyklaniMark/gifts).

> I legit started writing this before the show aired, just didn't finish and didn't edit in time :'D but now, here it is! So it started out more with the book-versions, and then the show inspired me some more.

Newt had been pretty excited to finally get to Diagon Alley. Sure, the school itself fascinated him too – a _ magic school _ – but a street with all the magical shops! It was all he could think about since the representative from Hogwarts talked to him and his parents about how he was a wizard.

A _ wizard_. 

Well, that at least explained why computers and electronics never seemed to work around him. But who needed technology when you had _ magic_, right?

And Diagon Alley lived up to his expectations, and then some. First they went to the bank to exchange some money, and there were goblins! Actual goblins! His father would've nudged him with his elbow to close his mouth, had his own not been hanging open as well. And it only got even more magical from there.

They avoided the sports shop, because there was no way he would be able to stay on a broom without fainting. So instead he got proper robes from a lady who directed the measuring tape with his wand, which Newt found exceptionally smart and convenient. He went to the apotheka to get potion's supplies, and he couldn't help the gasp at all the weird ingredients lining up the walls – and the shopkeeper moped up a spill with a wave of the wand, again! Newt just couldn't wait to try that. 

He decided he wanted a wand _ immediately_, and so they trotted to Ollivander's, which... was less intriguing than he had hoped. The shop was dark, and the wands were kept in boring boxes, but still – magic wands! 

Ollivander himself was less welcoming than the other sellers at Diagon Alley. He made cryptic comments Newt didn't understand but made his mom twist her fingers anxiously, and then measured Newt using a similar tape to Madame Malkin, and then began handing wand after wand to Newt.

Most felt either like a standard stick you'd pick up from the side of the road, or repelled him like when you try to push the opposing ends of magnets together. The first kind didn't have an effect when he waved them, and the latter kind made things explode.

It wasn't very encouraging, especially as it kept happening.

Their wand-selecting adventure kept dragging on, and the alarm on his parents' faces increased, and Ollivander got more and more sullen. Doubt began to creep into Newt's mind – what if he wasn't even a proper wizard? What if he would be just as rubbish at magic as with technology? What if he never found the perfect wand?

This is why he had been less excited about Hogwarts than Diagon Alley: he could never much get on with kids his age – they didn't bully him, but they didn't engage much with him either. But if he couldn’t even find a wand that worked, he'd be the worst of the class, and then...

It felt like an eternity later that a wand finally, _ finally _ sent some warm sparks up his arm. It felt surprisingly good to be holding it in his palm, and he beamed at Ollivander – who just huffed and shrugged, but hey. He had a wand. 

Still, his spirits could use some lifting, so his parents decided to get him to the bookstore next to cheer him up.

As far as diversions went, this worked perfectly: Newt's eyes traced the shelves eagerly, drinking all the information in. These books would teach him everything! Surely he'd even learn how to be a proper wizard by the end. 

He immediately picked up _ Hogwarts: A History_, because knowing more about the history of his school could get in handy. The shopkeeper collected the mandatory books for him, so he was free to look around as he pleased, and find something to his liking. 

There were some interesting volumes on wizard-non wizard relations, which Newt also put into his cart. And something about medieval witch-hunts, which sounded very interesting, and he just began reading the chapter list when raised voices drifted towards him. 

"No, absolutely not – fifty Galleons is absolutely unreasonable," said a posh voice. Newt took a step to be able to look at the register. Even with his limited knowledge about magic, he knew that fifty Galleons was a lot of money.

A middle-aged wizard was arguing with the shopkeeper. He came off incredibly posh, probably because of the tweed robes he was wearing, and the way he caressed the book's cover on the counter.

His companion wore all black, and reminded Newt more of a vampire than anything else.

Wait. Vampires were not real, right? 

"This is an incredibly rare volume," the shopkeeper said. "Only three copies remain, and–"

"I know, since I happen to own the two others," the posh wizard said. Kindly, but firmly. He looked like somebody's uncool uncle: a little bit chubby, very educated, and also very harmless.

"Then, you must see, Mr. Aziraphale–"

"That you are indeed asking too much," Mr. Aziraphale's companion interjected.

The shopkeeper – was it Flourish or Blotts? – actually gulped at that. 

Compared to Mr. Aziraphale, who came off polite and friendly, his companion gave off a threatening edge despite how relaxedly he was leaning on the counter. He didn't even look at the shopkeeper. 

"Well, since you are such an esteemed customer, Mr. Aziraphale, I may give you a discount," the shopkeeper said. "Say, forty-five Galleons?"

"My dear man, I value your contribution to our society, but that book isn't worth more than thirty," Mr. Aziraphale said.

"Forty."

"Thirty-five."

"Deal."

Mr. Aziraphale's companion smirked, still looking the other way – and Newt realized he was looking at _ him _. He gulped, because while Mr. Aziraphale paid, his companion walked towards Newt.

"Hogwarts, right?" he asked. He had a northern accent – maybe Scottish. 

"R-right," Newt said. 

"Ah, I remember being a first-year... wonderful times."

"How did you know I'm a first-year?" Newt squeaked.

"I'd met you otherwise," the man replied. "I teach at Hogwarts."

Newt paled even more at the thought of seeing this man again on a daily basis. 

"Ah, a newcomer!" Mr. Aziraphale exclaimed as he walked up to them. "So nice to meet you – non-wizarding background, correct?"

"Yes," Newt relaxed a bit at Mr. Aziraphale. "Newt Pulcifer, Sir."

"I'm Professor Aziraphale, and this is Professor Crowley. We teach at Hogwarts!"

"You are only there for the library," Crowley teased, but Aziraphale scoffed. 

"I'm there for the same reason you are: to teach and help future generations become better than their past selves," Aziraphale told Crowley, then he turned to Newt. "We are also Heads of Houses, so there's a good chance we'll get to know each other more."

He even smiled at Newt, who smiled back. 

"That may not be the appropriate level for you," Crowley nodded at the book in Newt's hand. "Coming from a muggle background, that is. If you have questions, I can help with that once we're in Hogwarts."

He sounded genuine, and Newt risked a smile at him too – and to his surprise, the professor returned it.

"Have a wonderful summer," Aziraphale said as a goodbye, and with that, they were out the door.

  


Newt spent the rest of his summer pouring over the books. He wasn't allowed to practice with his wand, and the other supplies were either inappropriate (like the robes and the hat) or unusable (like the potion ingredients) without magic, so the books were both the most informative and valuable resources he got. 

He put aside the ones that were strictly on the practice of magic: how to hold a wand during a specific incantation, how to pronounce the words and where to put the emphasis. But the ones on the _ theory _ of magic... well, that was something else entirely. 

Professor Crowley turned out to have been right: the book on witch-hunts left him with more questions than answers without the appropriate level of background knowledge. It referenced events and made off-handed comments that Newt supposed were common knowledge amongst wizards, like the theory of evolution or the Spanish Inquisition amongst humans, but he – an alien, in this context – had no information on, plus no way to find out.

The Internet proved to be disappointingly lacking on the subject of actual magic. 

However, he still found some interesting facts, like how burning witches was a very ineffective way of getting rid of them, since most wizards could easily perform a spell that protected them from the flames. He got a good laugh out at the thought of that one: a witch or wizard lously pretending to be suffering at the stake, while in reality they were mildly tickled, if at all. 

And then, two pages later, he found something so interesting he almost dropped the book.

His own name – his own surname, listed as a famous(ly ineffective) witch-hunter.

Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer.

Newt lifted the book with shaking hands to find out more despite his dread. 

Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer managed to blow up a whole village when he tried to burn a famous seer. The surprising bit was that he had actually killed the witch, too – or rather the witch killed herself and the whole village with the muggle gunpowder she had hid under her skirt. 

Why she would do that when she was actually a capable witch, wand and all, and could've escaped anytime, was anyone's guess. 

Her prophecies were just as insane as her final act on Earth: all involving only her descendants, and not very useful for the rest of the world, even though the book noted that they were accurate to the T.

Newt didn't know what he was expecting to get out of this book, but it surely wasn't this.

He wondered how many of his future peers knew about Witchfinder Pulsifer, and if he would have a hard time because of it. 

He wondered what his own ancestors would have thought of him. 

He wondered what he thought of his own ancestors, and he came to no conclusion.

He tried to focus on other, less stressful things about the wizarding world than his own heritage, for which he found good material in _ Hogwarts: A History_. Or so he thought at first, and then he ended up spiraling into a hole of anxiety about which house he'd be in – he didn't feel particularly brave, smart or sly, so he tried to mentally prepare himself for Hufflepuff. 

Surely he could learn magic there just as well as in any other house, right?

From there he escaped into contemplating the Housing system in general, and the Heads of Houses in specific. Both Professors Crowley and Aziraphale said they were Heads, although Newt was pretty sure they didn't mention their Houses – not that Newt could've remembered the weird names on the spot. So he spent a nice afternoon considering the issue.

Both of them seemed pretty straightforward: firstly, Crowley didn't so much as walk towards him, more like _ sauntered,_ hips sliding left and right, similarly to how a snake slithers on the ground. Secondly, his black, sleek attire reminded Newt of the illustrations he saw of Salazar Slytherin, and of a dark snake in general. Thirdly, he just gave off this _ vibe _ – not necessarily evil, but not benevolent either. Sly and cunning, just like a Slytherin.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, seemed to be the exact opposite. Like a cozy grandfather, or uncle, always ready to offer a cup of hot chocolate and some intellectual insight during every dinner. Plus he resembled Helga Hufflepuff's illustration a lot, both in his color scheme (all light, but not bright shades) and and in his complexion (chubby with fair hair). 

And yet, despite the obvious differences and that they were the heads of different, maybe even opposing houses, they looked to be friendly, so maybe this whole thing with the houses didn't mean as much as Newt initially feared.

  
  


The rest of the summer flew by in the same vein: Newt was reading his textbooks, imagining possible (and usually not at all plausible) scenarios of his first encounter with _ actual _ magic, and generally trying (and failing) not to panic about the Housing Ceremony.

He even managed to cover a nervous smile with real excitement on the platform to Hogwarts,and who could blame him? They went _ through _ the wall to arrive here! It was wilder than Alice in Wonderland. His smile calmed his parents, and they waived at him from the platform when the train rolled out and began the journey up north.

Newt wasn’t the only one from a non-wizarding (or Muggle, as some called it) family, and he found kindred spirits in a bunch of eleven-year-olds also full of anticipation and dread in equal measure.

They changed into their robes, not missing the fact that their House colors were absent, and, _ right_, Newt was panicking now. The whole school would be watching him, and this was effectively the most significant determining factor of his life in Hogwarts, and he had no control over it – it was a worse feeling than being thrown out of his beginners’ IT class. It was like a university admittance, even though that shouldn’t have happened for another few years.

He remembered barely anything from the train ride, nor his new group, he thought sadly as he sat in a boat with three others he couldn’t recall the names of, but the ashen-white faces around him suggested he may not have been the only one.

But the fist sight of the castle would stick in his memory forever, he was certain of that. The thousand towers reached skyward majestically, but not threateningly, and the light seeping from the many windows cast a golden reflection on the waves.

This would be his home for years.

He was told as much by the Professor responsible for the first years, who barely had time to marvel at the talking paintings and the chatty ghosts before they were led into the Great Hall, down an aisle between the houses and right in front of the teachers’ table.

The Sorting Hat was sat on a stool, and Newt’s insides were churning as he listened to a song about the magical abilities each founder preferred in their pupils. 

He would’ve liked to be thought of as brave, smart or at least cunning, but hey, at least he was called a wizard now.

The incredibly long list of students ahead of him all got sorted incredibly quickly, and then it was Newt’s turn.

_ “Ah, you want to prove your worth, young Newton”_, the Hat told him after he struggled up to the stool and put it on. “ _ You have a kind heart and the will to find yourself. The House that could help you most in that is… _ HUFFLEPUFF!”

Thunderous applause greeted him at his new house, and Newt returned the smiles, even if a bit half-heartedly.

After the wonderful dinner and the Headmistress' speech, he followed his Prefect with the rest of his new house to their Common Room. At least the school was normal in that the speech (by then Newt was rather drowsy from the wide selection of foods he had consumed) only touched on the bare essentials, like that the forest was forbidden, the sport season would start soon, may the best House win the Cup, et cetera. It was surprisingly like what he had heard in his old school.

Their Common Room was as far away from normal as possible, though. First, they had to tap rhythmically on a specific barrel on a specific corridor, and how was Newt even supposed to remember that? His only consolation was that all of his yearmates looked equally lost – and that the yellow patterns on robes revealed their older housemates, and maybe they would help. Then they went _ into the barrel _ through a _ secret door _ (and how cool was that!), up on a narrow staircase into what Newt could only describe as a Hobbit-hole. 

Their Common Room was wonderfully golden-colored, warm, glowing even at night. Plants and cacti waved at them from the shelves, the greens giving even more life to the place. Right across the main door hang a large painting on the wall, and a lovely woman – Helga Hufflepuff, Newt recognized her – smiled and waved down at them merrily. A fire crackled away in the fireplace, and everything smelled like welcoming cinnamon and a touch of fresh grass. 

"It's the kitchen, we're right next door," a girl explained after seeing him smell the air. He blushed – she was really pretty. "And please try to remember that the boy's dormitories are up and _ left_."

"...okay," Newt said uncertainly. The what now?

"You will barge in on us otherwise."

"Anathema, you are _ making _ him do that!" another girl rounded on the first.

"No, I'm not," she said defensively. "How many times do I have to tell you that I actually know what is going to happen?"

The two girls continued what seemed to be an older argument, and Newt watched the one called Anathema until she huffed and went upstairs angrily. 

He turned back to the Prefect right as he was explaining the sleeping arrangements, and yes, boys to the left. He got it. He did not want to draw Anathema's ire – or anybody else's, for that matter. 

But if she could really see the future, that was so cool... Newt wondered if she saw anything else with him involved, and then his daydreams almost got the worst of him: a classmate had to pull him back from the door on the right, where he inadvertently ended up anyway.

Maybe Hufflepuff wasn't such a bad house, after all, he thought to himself as he lay on the comfortable sheets of his new bed. The Common Room was a dream come true, Anathema was the most beautiful girl he'd ever met, and his Head of House was going to be Professor Aziraphale. 

And he was going to study _ magic_. Nothing besides that really mattered.

  


The next morning he put on his yellow-accented robes proudly, and trekked down to the Great Hall with his peers in excitement. They told him that they were going to get their schedules after breakfast, and Newt was so hyped to see what awaited him that he almost fell down the stairs in his haste. Only a hand out of nowhere caught him.

He looked back, ready to thank his savior, but his mouth clamped shut when he saw that it was Anathema. 

She rolled her eyes and breezed past him, leaving Newt in quiet embarrassment – which didn't last long: entering the Great Hall was a magical experience the second time around too, with the ghosts hovering above the tables and the ceiling showing off a bright, sunny sky. 

He kept an eye out not only for Anathema, but Professor Aziraphale as well. What was his first lesson going to be? Fantastic beasts? Potions? Divinations? 

But Professor Aziraphale took his time. Breakfast was nearly over, and Gryffindor and Ravenclaw already got their schedules, and some of the students were leaving for their classes. Yet Aziraphale kept chatting with Professor Crowley. The two stuck out spectacularly: Aziraphale was wearing a beige robe with tartan accents, whereas Crowley was dressed in all black – but his robes seemed to be cut like the female teachers', and even had some lace on the sleeves. 

Newt sighed and got a second helping of pudding, and then contemplated a third because Professor Aziraphale wass _ still eating _ (this time, without Crowley), when a crisp voice spoke up behind him.

"Right, onto your schedules. First years, you are going to start with Defense Against the Dark Arts, classroom is on the second floor, ask a portrait if you get lost. Second years..."

It was Professor Crowley. A flick of his wand send the dozen timetables flying into the awaiting hands of first-years, but Newt couldn't have cared less about that now.

_ Professor Crowley_. How– he was the Head of House for _ Hufflepuff_?

But then Aziraphale–

Newt looked up, and yes, the other Professor was chatting away with the Slytherins, handing out schedules and smiles.

Newt had never experienced a Stun before, but based on what he had read, the feeling must have been something similar to how he felt.

"Surprised?" somebody asked him. 

It was Anathema who popped down next to him.

"You know I am," he said.

"Yeah. But don't worry, Crowley is not as bad as he looks."

Newt glanced at the teacher, then back at her. "He looks menacing," he admitted.

"He does," she whispered back. "I was wary of him at first, too. I had to make a special request to get into Divination early – normally only the third years are allowed, you see. And he huffed and puffed, then not only got my request accepted, but he kept checking back on me weekly, to see if I was doing okay with the extra work."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Just don't mention it aloud – he has an image to maintain." 

Newt saw Crowley moving down the table out of the corner of his eye. A tall, sleek black figure, so very contrasting to everything Newt believed about Hufflepuff. 

“Divination?” he asked her. 

“My ancestor is a famous seer,” she said proudly.

Newt swallowed. “Mine, um, is a witch-hunter?” he admitted.

She squinted at him.

“As long as you don’t try to set me on fire, it’s fine.”

“You think so?”

“Sure. And if someone tries to bully you for it, go to Crowley. He will take care of it.”

“Will he?” Newt still wasn’t sold. "I can't believe he is the head of this house, and not Slytherin."

"It's because of how he treats us," Anathema said. "Equally. He believes we can achieve what we want in life, and who you’re born as doesn’t matter. That's why Aziraphale is the Head of House in Slytherin: he gives more credit to nature. And don't be fooled – he is much tougher than Crowley. You miss his deadline and you will regret it, whereas Crowley will just shrug and say it's your loss. The only rule is that you don't mess with the plants in the common room. Those are his pride and joy."

Newt's head was spinning. 

"Please at least tell me they are together," he begged her. "Or did I misread that too?"

She laughed brightly at him. "No, of course they are. _ Everybody _ knows that. Once Crowley was teaching us how to transform quills into hearts, and later, during History of Magic Aziraphale opened his desk and all of his quills were just heart-shaped feathers! He got so flustered," she grinned. "And that's just one of the many similar stories."

"...so he's a great softie? Crowley?"

"The greatest," she nodded. "Come on, I'll lead to you DADA, it's on the way to my Potions class, and I'll tell you more about them."

**Author's Note:**

> Highly inspired by and brainstormed with @EvaReyklani who ranted one night about the reasons why they believe Crowley to be Hufflepuff, and I was like, okay, and imagine Azira as Slytherin... and this happened.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @cpt-winniethepooh!


End file.
